


Loyalty

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Assassination Plot(s), Gen, Gold Sickness (Tolkien), Khazâd November, Moral Dilemmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 15:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: Erebor is facing changes. Thráin is facing a decision. A life-changing one.





	Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 17 of [Khazâd November](https://a-grump-of-dwarves.tumblr.com/post/166304116735/khaz%C3%A2d-november-2017), the additional prompt was "loyalty".  
> 

Dwarves prided themselves on their loyalty. Thráin didn’t know a single dwarf who didn’t consider himself loyal, himself included. 

The difficult thing about loyalty was just: to whom did your loyalty belong? To your kingdom, your king, your general, your father, your family or your son? 

It was not something Thráin had spent much time thinking about, he simply _was_ loyal. All the people and things a good dwarf was supposed to be loyal to were aligned neatly, no moral conflict arising.

Until recently.

The incident with the necklace, more precisely. Thráin had known his father had a bit of a problem with gold. He had known, but he hadn’t wanted to know and so he had filed the problem neatly at the back of his mind, to be worried about at some other time. Thorin, who had been spending a lot more time with his grandfather, had quietly mentioned it to him one night, unsure of what to do. Thráin had advised him to wait and see if it would really be that much of a problem. 

Thráin should have seen it coming, he really should have. He had seen his father, his king, chuckling over that necklace. He had mentioned something about a “little prank”. And Thráin had been _glad_ that his father’s spirits had risen, even though he had advised him to refrain from whatever prank he was planning, he was king after all.

Now, the Elvenking was returning. With an army. They were slow from what the border guards said, and Thráin was not entirely sure the elves were set on war. Maybe they just wanted an apology, together with that awful necklace. Thráin no longer had any illusions. They wouldn’t be getting either from King Thrór. 

And here Thráin stood, next to the throne in the midst of a landscape of gold, thinking about loyalty with a knife in his cloak. He could recall all the instances that should have told him there was a problem, that King Thrór was a danger to his kingdom. Thráin could have come up with a solution then, but now it had all boiled down to this one choice. 

Thrór was considering his military options. Should he meet the elves on the battlefield or let them lay siege on Erebor, where winter would soon come to the dwarves’ aide? 

Thráin could have asked someone to do it in his stead. Fundin or Hali would have done it, as a number of his warriors would have. They knew where their loyalty was, perhaps loyalty was for dwarves with simpler lives than the one Thráin led. But Thráin knew he could not ask this of them. He would have to do it himself. 

Thorin would rule in his stead, since a king with his own father’s blood on his hands could not rule the kingdom undisputed, whether his doom be death or exile. Thorin would do well, Thráin was certain of it. His budding friendship with the Elvenking would help smooth the waters as well. 

“Thráin.”

“Yes, your majesty?”

“You were not listening to me. I’m asking whether we should take the men of Dale as hostages.”

“I don’t think so, your majesty, no. They are our allies, we cannot do that.” This was the worst plan Thráin had heard of since Thrór’s little “prank” had turned out to mean not giving the necklace to the Elvenking at all and insulting him instead.

“But they will surely turn against us. You heard Girion’s words: he will have no part in this war.”

“That is because it is folly. We should give the elves that necklace, they paid for it to be repaired after all, and it was theirs in the first place. This is not a matter to go to war over,” Thráin cautioned.

“And yet they are marching on us! They are attacking us!”

“After you offered them insult and went back on your word. I am sure the Elvenking will leave with his army if we just give him what he wanted all along.”

“I will not be pressured this way, and I will not let the men of Dale pull their sword against me!” Thrór raged. “Sooner will I take them hostage.”

“If there is to be a siege, they will only use up resources,” Thráin pointed out.

“Alright, so we should wall up the river and flush them out of their town instead,” Thrór decided.

“No! Do you even realize what you are suggesting? You intend to turn on our allies and murder them!”

“Do _you_ realize what you are suggesting? Cowardice! You want us to grovel in front of the elves who want to steal _our_ treasures!”

Thráin said nothing and Thrór returned to his plotting. 

There really was no other way. Thrór would drive the entire kingdom and its allies into ruin otherwise. 

He was doing it for the kingdom, for the entire region. He himself would gain nothing but guilt. It was an act of loyalty towards his kingdom, his son, his descendants. 

Thráin took a slow step towards King Thrór, as if to look at the map he was bent over. Fundin watched him.

He knew, Thráin realised. He knew and he was not doing anything about it. He agreed it was the right thing to do.

This would be the right moment, Thráin knew. Thrór was bent over the map, suspecting nothing, easy to reach. Thráin clasped the knife under his cloak. 

He hesitated, watching King Thrór as he gesticulated over the map. He was close enough to do it, close enough to reach out and stab King Thrór with nothing between them that could stop him.

King Thrór looked up and threw his son a side glance. “I’d ask you to lead the right flank of the army, but I’m not sure the task is something for cowards. Perhaps I should give Fundin the command.”

Fundin was still watching Thráin intently, barely reacting to the king’s words. It would be easy and Thráin would have to do it soon, before King Thrór left for the battlements to look at the situation in real. 

“Or I could give Thorin his first real taste of command and let him lead the right flank.”

Into the heart, or into the neck. Those were the choices it came down to, and Thráin had decided for the heart long ago. It was the king, or his son. Thráin wondered if this was the right moment, clutching the knife even more tightly. It would have to be. King Thrór was rolling the map together and talking about the battlements.

Thráin took a deep breath.

King Thrór took a step away, then two. Thráin would still be able to reach him easily, if he acted now. 

The king moved away. Perhaps, if he ran, Thráin would be able to do it. Running would give him the impetus, taking away the time to think.

Thráin exhaled. The air rushed out in a shaky gust. Thráin deflated.

It had nothing to do with loyalty towards his father, towards his king. His loyalties lay elsewhere. It had everything to do with cowardice. 

Fundin was no longer looking at him, following the group of advisors towards the door instead. Thráin took a step to follow them. It was the only thing he could think of doing. 

Perhaps the elves would solve the problem instead, except that the dwarves would never be able to tolerate the death of a king by the hands of elves. More war would follow. Perhaps Fundin would do it. Thráin felt the guilt eat at him.

“Dragon!” 

Thorin’s voice. His voice, but not a in a tone Thráin had ever heard him calling in before. His voice, calling the word every one of Thráin’s ancestors had feared.

“Dragon!”


End file.
